And the World Comes Crashing Down
by Twizardck
Summary: Alfred Jones has grown up in his Massachusetts town with constant fear of the "Lobsters" coming to take him and his brother away. And they were allowed to do so... Because after all England had won the war.
1. Prologue

**Birthday Update Fest – Number 9**

**This is my new APH ongoing work… I expect it to be about the same length as "Rise of the Fallen Land," maybe longer, maybe a chapter or two shorter. I hope to update it every week, but I'm sure if you've read my things before you know that isn't quite likely with my schedule. Well anyway, here is the prologue!

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And the world comes crashing down. A saying, an overdramatic sentence used in books and movies and all sorts of useless crap that I never got to even look at, let alone read or watch. But I'd heard that saying. I'd seen it in the letters my distant family would write from England, using the paper they were allowed with to write secrets letters to us. The world came crashing down, they would say. Tumble, tumble, tumble. A few minutes and then it's in ruins.

My world was just about as sheltered as you could get. A small town in inland Massachusetts, far from the dangers of the docks. I was born there, went to school there, and was probably going to finish my life there, if I was lucky. And I wasn't.

They came and burned everything down. The Lobsters, I call them, as do all the rest of the people in my town, probably in all the towns. We had all thought that they'd leave Massachusetts alone, for after all, we had been the most willing to follow the rules, the most eager go get things back to the way they had used to be, to cooperate and get rid of the imposed punishments. But we weren't even last. No, not even close. They came to Massachusetts before rebel Maryland, before outspoken Virginia, before loudmouthed New York, before insistent Delaware.

We were wrong to think that they'd just leave us alone. For they just showed up in their red uniforms, guns and torches at the ready. They got everyone out of the houses and burned every last building down. They rounded up all of us boys over eleven and marched us out to the airport, leaving the parents and girls and younger kids just standing there, shocked, wondering what they were supposed to do with piles of ashes.

As we walked, my brother held my hand and cried. Sensitive Matthew, my unlucky twin. The water got trapped under his glasses and I cleaned them, holding tears in myself. I didn't want to go. But it's what we got for having the gall to be born in America. America, the group of rebel colonies that dared take on the greatest power on Earth. America, the group of rebel colonies that just wanted independence and lost any chance of it. America, the group of rebel colonies that dragged Canada down with them. America the failure.

America, still punished now after two hundred twenty-seven years since the failed Revolutionary War. And all of us, the unlucky boys, destined to be shipped back to England and honor the motherland in service. Just because we had the indecency to be born.

Sometimes I wish I hadn't been.

As we boarded the plane I squeezed Matthew's hand. Our eyes met – both covered by glasses, his blue-violet, mine ice blue – and we silently gave each other a promise. We wouldn't be separated. Not ever. No matter what the motherland had in store for us.


	2. Chapter 1

It may seem strange, but the first thing that came to my mind as we were ushered into a building in England was that it had air conditioning. And it worked. Sometimes public buildings in America would have the treasured man-made cool air, but most often they didn't. And if they did, most often it wouldn't work. Stepping inside this building was like stepping into another world.

The ceilings were high. They weren't anything like the five-footers we had in our houses, the ones that I had to crouch down under to even hope not to hit my head. No, these ceilings were endless, vanishing up into the sky with stairs running along the walls.

We were directed to a large desk and when I got near I squinted my eyes hard to try and make out the words written above it. We had limited schooling, to say the least.

I didn't like what I could make sense of. It said, "Military". And when I looked at the man there, sitting with his hands folded on the desk in his red uniform, I had a nasty feeling about what that meant.

When he began to talk my fears were affirmed.

"You've been brought here to train as a soldier."

And that was the end of his speech. Done. That's it. But it frightened me enough, oh hell it did. Because I knew what the military was. The same people who had brought me here and burned down my house.

I didn't want to be a Lobster.

From the way Matthew's fingers suddenly dug into my palm, he wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea either. And I couldn't picture him in a battle. Involuntarily, I looked over, just to see the fear in his eyes and the sudden cold sweat on his forehead.

A line was formed without much of a struggle, all of us boys shell-shocked at our newfound predicament. They expected us to fight for them.

We went through the line quickly, as we just had to say our name then file into a room. Somehow Matthew and I had ended up in the back, a terrible place to be because all of a sudden it was just us and the man at the desk.

I held my breath as Matthew somehow managed to stammer out his name. He gave his last as "Williams", for my mother had always said that she liked it better than our family name. I think that it was more like she was afraid of repercussions. My grandfather, my father's father and the one whose name was now our last, had been the leader in the last bout of revolts. He'd escaped from Britain and created a force in order to try and keep our remaining towns safe.

At his memory I stuffed my hands into the pockets of the jacket I wore, a piece of clothing that had belonged to him. It was real leather, a bomber jacket that was warmer and much sturdier than any other thing I had owned. He'd left it to me.

Matthew walked away and my hand felt empty where my brother's warmth had been. I tried not to let my panic show, my horror at being alone with this Lobster. I tried to stay calm as I stepped up and unflinchingly told him who I was.

"Alfred Jones," I said, chin jutting out. I was proud of my grandfather. Fuck the repercussions.

Instead of writing down the name and waving me on, as he had done for every other boy to come up to him, the Lobster's eyes widened. His hand flew out and pressed down on a button. He muttered quietly into a mike, "Sir, sir, he's here."

Wariness leaked into my chest as I started to back away, more frightened of this place then I had been. Was being related to the late Alfred Jones that bad that he would call a higher ranking official on me?

A door flew open a couple flights above me and a small blonde man in the hated red uniform tore his way down the stairs, closely followed by other Lobsters calling out, "Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Kirkland, sir, please stop!"

He was fast and outstripped them easily, dashing down and skidding to a halt right in front of me. His green eyes searched my face and he nodded slowly.

"Alfred," he said softly. "You kept me waiting longer than usual."

I had no idea what he was talking about. But his face stirred some sort of familiarity and emotion in me. First I felt relief, relief that he was here, for no reason. Then slowly a sense of resentment… And then my hand acted of its own will.

I slapped the Brit before me across the face.

O.o.O

**Author's Note: Well, I did not expect to be done with this by today. But it's still a short little premise chapter. They'll be longer, later. Just bear with me. Saturday will be it's normal updating day. So… read and review please?**


	3. Chapter 2

I was pushed to the ground almost instantly after my outburst. Rough hands pulled my arms behind my back and kept me still despite my struggles – and I had always been unusually strong. My chin rubbed against the cold tile floor in a way that was uncomfortable and my right leg had landed in an angle that I was sure was hurting some muscle. But that didn't matter at the moment.

What mattered were the polished black boots that had now stepped up to my face. I watched, my struggles stopping, as he squatted down and let his red pants show. It was the man who knew my name. The high ranking one. Somehow I just knew.

A gloved finger worked its way under my chin and pulled it up, forcing my eyes to meet his green ones. There was mild disappointment, a little hurt, and a heap of anger in their depths. I kept mine stoically neutral.

"Every time I end up getting hurt," he muttered, words so quiet that I was sure only I could hear them. I wanted desperately to ask what the hell he meant. Despite the sense of familiarity that had come with his presence I was quite sure that I had never met this man before.

I let myself be pulled to my feet, arms still held firmly behind my back. Then we began to walk, to where I did not know. All that mattered was that it was away from the door that –

"Matthew, Matthew!" I cried, struggles all of a sudden renewed. "Mattie! Damn it, damn it!" I twisted my head around and watched a blonde head pop through the door before getting pushed back inside by a guard. Our eyes met briefly – both sets panicked.

I flailed, looking around for the man who had seemed to know me. I found him, noticed that he too was turned towards the room, surprise etched on every line of his face. His mouth moved, but I couldn't make out the words, couldn't even tell if he was saying something or just mouthing it.

All that mattered was that we were still moving and Matthew was getting farther and farther away and this Brit wasn't doing anything to stop it and…

We were out of a building and into a car. A paper bag was shoved onto my head, not letting me see the innards of the vehicle, through from the feel of the leather it was nice. Another body sat next to me.

I was shaking. The man to my side – when he spoke I recognized it as that same man, this, "Mr. Kirkland". What was he, some sort of pedophile? I was only fifteen! – could feel that and rested his hand on my leg.

"Alfred, shhh. I'm not going to hurt you. In fact, so far, the opposite, has been true." His voice was rough and I sensed that after he got over the shock of seeing me he would speak in a less kind way. Once again I couldn't suppress a surge of recognition and relief at the sound of the voice.

I rested my head against the seat, not taking off the bag though my hands were free. I wasn't sure that I wanted to have to look at my companion.

"Why should I believe you?" I murmured. "Why should I believe you… Iggy." The name rolled off my tongue, and I wasn't even sure if it was him. But it seemed right.

He gave a start. "I- you- huh?" There was the sound of a deep breath. "Arthur. Call me… Arthur."

"You didn't answer my question, Iggy." I stubbornly used the nickname, not caring if it was right or not. He hadn't seemed to want me to use it. That was plenty reason for me to do the opposite. "Why should I trust you?" My voice was muffled from the bag. I wondered if it sounded as if I was crying. It just might. I didn't want him to think that.

I reached up and pulled off the bag, looking over at Arthur. He blinked at me.

"Ask yourself that question." He didn't say anything more.

The rest of the trip passed in silence as he passed by tall buildings and green parks. I stared out the window, wondering if this place could get any different from home. I was given an answer when we stopped in front of our destination.

O.o.O

**Author's Note: Another short chapter, and it's short because this week was BUSY for me. And this next week is the end of the quarter so… expect another teeny little slip of a thing next week. But I **_**promise**_** that they will get longer.**

**Anyway, I have some things to say to some very special people:**

**nupinoop296**– wow, first and second review! You deserve a round of applause!

**APHxENGLAND** – it's here. I kept writing. See?

**yokolite** – Thank you! And two thumbs up, you hit the nail on the head.

**Fenyatan**** –** why thank you, is this soon enough?

**StarGazer453**– why yes, yes I do like making people try and figure things out… Thanks for sticking with my stories!

**LuckyNumbers** – I hope that I have begun to answer your questions.

**lightning834** – Oh you know I love hearing that…

**And thanks to everyone who favorited and followed! Keep reviewing!**


	4. Chapter 3

We don't have palaces back home. The governors had big enough houses – after all, they were English – and the army postings were large too. But they were just houses. Palaces I'd only heard of. And this… This was definitely one.

Medieval. That word floated into the back of my mind. _"Designed after the medieval palaces of Western Europe, this is one of the treasures of England. I hope you like it, Alfred. Now, will you get out of the car and not kick me again?"_

I was startled out of my thoughts as Arthur began to talk. His voice was quiet and he wasn't looking at me, instead staring out at the stone walls. "This is my home. Designed after the medieval palaces of Western Europe, this is one of the treasures of England. I hope you like it, Alfred. Now, will you get out of the car and not slap me this time?"

Well, that was strange.

Slowly, I opened the door, eyeing the dirt walkway before me with apprehension. English soil. Did the Lobsters hide real shellfish in their dirt? I certainly wouldn't put it past them.

It wasn't long before Arthur was walking towards the door, only once looking back to see if I was following. He beckoned me to him when I saw that I wasn't, instead still sitting in the car and staring out at the world with a look similar to that of disgust.

I slid one foot out with deliberate slowness, putting hardly any weight on it as I tested for sinkholes or something. Finding nothing wrong with the ground, I got out of the car and headed towards the man.

We walked in silence. I was testing out ways to escape in my head. There was no way I was going along with this for much longer. Matthew was back there, in the city we had just left. I had to be able to keep my promise. Our promise. However, I was at a disadvantage. I didn't know the lay of the land. I couldn't escape now.

The door opened when Arthur punched in some numbers. He led me in and nodded at a staircase, one of three branching out of this foyer. Three staircases and five hallways. "Up the stairs, take a left, first door on your right. You'll be staying there. I have to make a call now." And then he was gone.

I stood there, shocked. I had no idea what was going on, just that things seemed to be happening in rapid succession. I looked down at my feet, tested the incredibly thick carpet beneath them. I had no intention of doing what I was told. And it had seemed to be implied that I go see my – however unwillingly that possessive was used – new room.

Well, that was out now.

I turned on my heel, trying to figure out which way Arthur had gone. He obviously didn't want me to bother him in this call, for during our ride I had seen him take out a cell phone and type in some characters a few times.

A wild guess sent me down a hall covered in pictures of… Unicorns. Unicorns in golden frames – how rich was this guy? Was he that important? And that's when I heard the voices.

I slowed my steps and crept towards a door left slightly ajar, pushing it just a bit so I could see inside. Arthur was there, in front of a large screen resting on a desk. A computer. This must be his office.

His back was to me and I could see the screen. Another blonde man was shown there, one with long hair and blue eyes. He spoke with a French accent.

"Why is this so important, _Angleterre_? It's not like it is anything different. He dies, he comes back. Why should it matter to me?" I couldn't help but hear the bitterness in the man's tone. As I squinted at him through my glasses, I felt a sort of familiarity, much like I had for Arthur. But this feeling wasn't matched with anger and resentment this time.

Wait… Wasn't Angleterre French for England?

"I know this is nothing to you, France, but you know how I feel… I made a mistake. If just once he'll let me make it up to him. You know what was said –"

France?

"Yes, yes. I don't see why you must call me up just to brag. You get your second chance. Though what is it now? Your fifth? Sixth? It's all the same. He's a good boy. It's you who kills him. Every time."

I leaned forward, feeling the hard wood of the door against my face. I watched the muscles in Arthur's back tighten.

His voice was forced now. "I am not calling to brag. This time he has a brother."

The Frenchman's eyes sharpened. "A brother?"

Arthur nodded, slowly. "France… It's him.

I watched as the man on the screen started to cry, happily I thought. Were they talking about me and Matthew? I leaned forward.

I lost my balance.

I fell.

_Crash._

There was a sudden sound of wood scraping wood as Arthur got out of his chair and walked over to me. A gloved hand was shoved in my face and I quietly took it, quietly stood up. I glanced at the burning green eyes.

"Get out."

"What were you talking about?" I stared at him with equal heat.

Hands pushed me to the door. "Out."

"Tell me! Who is that man? What about Matthew? What's going on, _Iggy_?"

"OUT!" The door slammed behind me and I heard a lock click.

I was more confused now than I had ever been in my life.

From my vantage point outside I could just make out the voices from the room.

There was the sound of laughter. "Iggy already? That was fast. And he is acting more like his colonial self then I thought was possible for a teenager."

"Shut up France. He's listening at the door."

"And how do you know that?"

There was just the slightest sigh from Arthur. "Because he's America."

And I thought I was confused before… I put my hands in the pockets of my bomber jacket and walked towards the stairs, ready to hunt out that room now. I didn't want to get even more lost in this conversation.

_What is going on?_

O.o.O

**Author's Note: LONGER CHAPTER IS LONGER. And my favorite one that I have written so far. And more interesting. And… I could go on and on. It's still an exposition chapter, but hey, things are moving! So review and enjoy!**

**Some very special people deserve some very special recognition:**

**APHxENGLAND**– Yes. I love cliffhangers. Except when I'm waiting for other people to answer them… Then they are just annoying. Hehe…

**lightning834**– It's here! On time! It's a miracle!

**nupinoop296**– I refuse to answer that question… Which probably gives you the answer, ja? (You are correct, I answered one person, so… Shh, no one else sees this) And keep bowing, you deserve it.

**yokolite**– I find the Revolution incredibly interesting… But alternate history? It popped into my head during a particularly boring biology lecture that I was ignoring, and I just had to write it…

**StarGazer453**– Good job, you are correct! And thank you!

**ImaduckQuaQua**– Oh, don't we all know that Arthur is a creeper? And thanks, here it is!

**LuckyNumbers** – The same age he is in the series. Twenty-three.


	5. Chapter 4

Someone had lived in this room before. Lived in this room that was now mine, made it their own. And a while ago. Pictures of antiquated airplanes were plastered all over the walls and the furniture was outdated.

I loved it.

But what really caught my eye was the bed. And the fact that no springs were sticking out of it.

And only after I had bounced on the bed for at least ten minutes did I notice the huge television facing the bed and the rows of books on the shelf. Was he… being nice? Was all this for me?

Just as I was about to turn on the television – I'd only ever seen military messages meant to inspire obedience and fear, and was excited to see what the rest of the world was so hooked on – a quiet knock sounded on my door.

I looked up to see Arthur walk in and lean against the door, now dressed in a green outfit that didn't make me want to pummel him into dust.

"I'm afraid that we haven't had a chance to talk… And I haven't explained much. I didn't want you to overhear much of my conversation with France because I want to tell you myself, and in a proper way." He cleared his throat and stuffed a hand in a pocket. "So, Alfred, if you'll come to supper I will explain things. I know that you are confused and frightened and probably want me to just disappear. Just… hear me out."

I stared at him. Once again he had referred to the man as France. Wasn't that a country? Yes… It was.

All of my instincts told me not to trust this Lobster. But he had not hurt me yet, and I was curious. Curious enough to step away from the television and all of its buttons and towards Arthur, waiting for him to lead me to wherever we were eating.

The dining room was beautiful – the table oak, the draperies red – like the rest of the house, but now I knew Arthur's plan to do me in. Poison. Because the food in front of me was not edible. It didn't even look vaguely safe.

I hadn't eaten since the night before, at home. I now longed for my mother's clam chowder and her homemade bread, despite how many times I had told her that it was boring. It was home. What was before me was… Burnt scones. And I thought something on one of the round lumps was moving.

I sipped water.

Arthur had no misgivings about his food, apparently, as he automatically began to eat with a sort of fervor one expected of a starving man. Nothing was said for at least five minutes. My water was quickly gone.

Finally Arthur looked up, and I was surprised to see a sort of nervousness in his eyes. "I must confess," he eventually said, "that this never goes well. You aren't going to believe me. I know that you are going to stand up, walk out the door, and probably get yourself lost. Bloody git, you've done it every time."

I played with a fork, trying not to interrupt with my confusion on what he was talking about. Or why he called me a "bloody git".

"I know that you are familiar with history from the military showings. Or at least, what the world knows of it. But what I am going to tell you is slightly different. Please, try and keep an open mind."

I looked up at him, up at his earnest green eyes, at how he was leaning forward, every line on his face yelling, _I am going to tell you the truth. Please believe me._ I ran over the history from the viewings on the town's TV. The loss of the war. The retaliation for disobedience. The hangings – so many hangings – of the leaders. Leaving America in the state it is in now.

"I am Arthur Kirkland. To the world, that is. Officially, I run the military and much of the politics. I am the queen's right hand man. This country would not function without me."

"This country would not _exist_ without me, because I am it. I am the United Kingdom, the British Empire, England. A nation is the technical term for my kind. France is one. And there are others, one for every chunk of land out there."

"We are special. Immortal. We can only be killed by another of our kind, and even then it is difficult. We have to already be weakened, at the brink of destruction."

"You come from America, Alfred. And once the nation of America walked this earth. My colony. My little brother, if you will. I cared for him deeply. But then he announced that he wished for independence… And that is when it all changed."

"The American army was dead. Only he was standing, on that day. He looked like a boy of your age, a little younger perhaps. I had my musket at him, and I could taste the weakness radiating off him. He looked at me and said 'I will not be your puppet.' And America grasped the trigger of my gun and fired it."

At this I flinched, my finger stopped flicking the fork; I almost popped a bite of the scone in my mouth. This was all so… unbelievable. But the pain in Arthur… England's eyes was real.

"His brother, Canada, was so enraged that he fought against me too. And was destroyed. He died. Little, gentle Canada. I had never seen him hurt a fly, let alone fight a war."

"My government began the sweep of America that is going on till this day, where they… Force the colonies into obedience by the practice that brought you here. And that was how I learned of him. The first Alfred F. Jones."

"It quickly became clear that he had the memories of my America buried inside his mind and was the reincarnation of the original nation. And you, Alfred, are the sixth one. The sixth reincarnation of America."

I dropped my fork.

O.o.O

**Author's Note: Two weeks late, I know. I'm sorry! I've been so busy… And I've actually had this done, just not edited. Well, it is now! Sorta…**

**Well, it's not the best chapter, but its explaining things a bit. Yay for all of you who got it right! Good job!**

**I hope to have the next chapter up ON TIME and for the actual plot to get going. I thank you all for your great comments and reviews! I couldn't believe that I got so many already… You guys are the best!**

**So… Read, review, favorite, follow, do your stuff! Love you all!**


	6. Chapter 5

Crazy. This man was completely, totally crazy. My paranoid mother used to point out the jail when we went to the capital on business and say "crazy people make crazy killers". She would nod and purse her lips, and tuck strands of blonde hair nervously behind her ears. "Crazy people make crazy killers," she'd repeat, "and they're always looking for victims."

I pushed the chair back as I stood, the room wobbling around me. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears as I looked at Arthur. My mother was never wrong.

Despite the harsh cry of, "Alfred, wait!" I ran out the door and collapsed on the ground. I blinked at the sun, felt myself shake. The entire world was growing fuzzy. Had there been something in my water?

Everything went dark.

* * *

I blinked open my eyes to find myself moved, propped up in some warm bed with light filtering weakly through a window. Frowning, I looked around. This was not the room Arthur had said was mine. It was so… Bare. There wasn't even a dresser.

I got out of bed, and looked down, surprised. I was wearing boots. And these were not my clothes… They were so… old fashioned.

This was going too far, changing my clothes. I stomped out of the room and down a hallway. I tried to open my mouth to call out for Arthur, to get him to come and explain himself, but found I couldn't. It felt as if I was… being manipulated in some way.

And then there was Arthur, in a white shirt and a strange sort of ruffly tie. Black pants. Boots.

He turned as I approached, a huge smile lighting up his face. "America!" he said, bending down and patting my head. "Did you sleep well?"

I tried to put my emotions into words, but found that I once again couldn't. Instead something else spilled out.

"Course not, not with your snoring! I am not used to it, you leave me alone too much!" For some reason, I sounded hurt.

Wait… he bent down? But I was taller than him!

I realized then that I was looking up to see him. And, through the corner of my eye, I could see that this house was not the castle-like model that Arthur lived in.

And he had called me America.

Once again, words I had not called upon tumbled out of my mouth. "England, I'm hungry, will you cook for me?" I could feel the smile stretch across my face, practically _taste_ the eagerness in my voice. And that's when I knew this was not me…

This was some sort of memory.

* * *

I woke up, shaking, shuddering, gasping. Green eyes stared down at me, full of worry. I could feel the soft feeling of a bed beneath me, and I looked down at myself, relieved to realize that I was in my own clothes. Glancing around, I saw the airplanes and the TV.

Finally I looked at Arthur, sitting there with his hands clenched into fists on his knees, obviously frightened. I took a couple deep breaths to orient myself.

"England…" I said softly, noticing how my mouth easily formed the name, how a part of my brain had already decided it belonged to this man. To Arthur. "When you said that America's memories were buried in the first Alfred's mind… Did you mean that they are in mine too?"

He stared at me for a second more, eyes widening almost imperceptibly into a form of surprise. But then he nodded.

"Did you experience a memory, Alfred?" he said softly. "I don't suppose it showed me in the best light…"

I shook my head, surprised at how much vigor the action held, as if I was desperate for him to not have that sad overcast to his face. "No, no… But… I believe you, England. My… My brother. My big brother."

Some part of me was desperate to see Arthur smile like he had in the memory, his whole face lighting up, transformed. But he didn't. Just stared off into space, looking pained.

Eventually he looked at me again, lips twitching upward just the slightest amount. "Well then, I'm glad. Maybe things will work out this time."

And then he left. Leaving me alone, hurt, and confused.

**Author's Note: Ah yes, this is a little late but I was so busy this weekend... But in a good way! I hope the wait wasn't too bad...**

**This isn't my favorite chapter, but now the real plot will begin! I can;t wait to start getting to the point of things... And I promise, this time for sure, chapters will get longer. This one was so short...**

**Some questions to answer...**

**yokolite - **Yes, Mattie will play a bigger part in the rest of the story. Don't you worry!

**LuckyNumbers** - If you can wait a little longer, I believe the next update will make things more clear...

**AND HUGE THANK YOUS TO ALL OF YOU WHO REVIEWED, FAVORITED, AND FOLLOWED! You are so much nicer to me than I am to myself... Please continue doing what you do!**


	7. Chapter 6

For the next few minutes, hours, days, however long, I drifted in and out of sleep. Not that I got any actual resting done, for every time my eyes slid shut there was another memory there. It seemed as if now that the first had been shown, the others couldn't wait any longer to make their presence known.

I saw days in the sun and nights under the stars. I saw endless smiles and tears of sorrow at every parting. I saw resentment grow, saw the hardness of a man looking at a teenager whom they can't keep in line appear on Arthur's face. I watched shouted fights and heard angry words.

The last in that stream of hundreds of memories was a battle, one of the Revolutionary War, the failed attempt. And at this one I awoke, tangled in my sheets, screaming.

Dying can do that to you.

* * *

It was raining, pouring, and two lines of soldiers faced off across an empty plain. However, both lines were backed up, leaving space for the two figures in the center. I was one of them, feeling small and put upon, sitting backseat in the sharing of this memory. I could feel the water dripping from my hair, a gun in my hands.

Across from me was Arthur, the water staining his uniform blood red, expression full of hard lines. I could see the power about him and could feel the weakness of my own body, how I trembled and gasped when breathing. The contrast between us, red and blue, power and weakness... It was amazing. And yet I didn't back down.

He walked towards me almost lazily, not allowing any emotion to taint his face. He raised his musket to my neck and placed it there. I could feel the cold metal and raised my chin slightly in as large a gesture of defiance I could muster in my current state.

"Give in," he hissed, jabbing at me slightly with the gun. "Just give up, come back to me."

I gazed into his green eyes, searching him. With a small smile, I saw that there was resolve there, but resolve only to get me to surrender. He wouldn't kill me. He couldn't.

Using the last of my energy, I laughed and cast my musket to the ground. Then I gripped the trigger of his between my own two hands and whispered to him, locking his gaze with mine.

"I am not your puppet, I am not your slave. I am not your colony and I am not your brother. I won't come back to you, ever. Not me."

I squeezed down on the trigger, and then the memory ended, abruptly, with just the distressed sounds of a scream in my ears.

* * *

Arthur came rushing in just as my wails turned into choked sobs. I sat up, hugging my legs to my chest and tried to ignore the blonde man standing at the door. I knew that, should I look up, I would see the look of despair on his face as he realized what I had seen. The sound of feet tugged at my ears and I glanced up, rubbing away the tears frantically as he began to move out the door.

"No, Arthur..."

He stopped but didn't turn back towards me. "I couldn't stop him," came a soft voice. "I was young and foolish, and he even more so. I couldn't stop him, and it was obvious what he was going to do. I just stood there and didn't do anything. And because of that I lost him, and you are forced to go through this. Just like all the others."

Shaking, I got out of the bed and walked towards Arthur. I could feel the repulsion grow the closer I walked, but fought it. This wasn't the England from that past memory. This wasn't even the England from the earlier ones. I could sense he was different. I was too. No matter how much I looked like America, I wasn't him.

"Why did you bring me here?"

Finally he looked at me again, glancing up at my eyes. With an aura of discomfort, I realized that our close proximity was much like the one on the day that America had died. From his expression, he felt it too. Neither of us moved.

"I want to do things right. And fix them. You see, when the first Alfred Jones appeared, someone very trustworthy in such things told me... Told me that if I did things right, this new America would take the place of the old. Become a nation again. Fix what I broke. Its just never worked out. You are so full of the ideals that my brother had. And every time, it has ended in trauma and death. I'm sorry for this. I'm sorry for not just letting you be. But you understand... Right?"

His words ringing in my ears, I tried to wrap my mind around it. If things went how they were supposed to...

"What about Mattie?"

This was blurted out as my mind crossed the problem that if everything came out and I became an immortal nation, I would leave behind my brother. Arthur looked surprised, then shook his head with a small smile.

"Canada. The first reincarnation of Canada that I have seen."

This put my mind at ease, and I just stood there. Finally, I decided on something.

"I do not know why it has not worked out before. However, I will help. I do not know what will happen, but if this is what you want, I would like my people to have some pride again. To become America. Somehow, we will make things work."

The flash of irritation before the relieved smile on Arthur's face was not lost on me. I pretended not to see it and extended my hand, wondering what it could have meant but refusing to dwell on it for the moment. Arthur shook, then pulled me into a hug, like the ones I would so often give Matthew.

"Thank you, Alfred," he murmured. "We'll start tomorrow."

Then he left, and I was alone wondering what sort of things we were starting on.

* * *

**Author's Note: GAHH! I know it has been too long! I'm so sorry people, school has been killing me, and a lack of muse... And I've been working on some Christmas presents, it being far past Christmas and me only having one done... I apologize!**

**This is not the best chapter ever. But here is the basis of the plot. Two important things happened in this much-too-short chapter, that will be coming up a lot in the future!**

**Once again, I promise that later the chapters will be longer. This was originally the first part of a much larger one, but the ideas were too separate and I decided to split them apart. No, I'm sorry, the next chapter is not done yet. Drafting. **

**And now, some of your questions... **

**StarGazer453 **- Did this answer your first one? Oh yes, Alfred will be getting a lot of memories from America... And will Arthur kill him once more? Just have to wait and see!

**APHxENGLAND** - You and your wondering. How's this for a painful memory?

**Das Kleines Phoenix** - Hmm, the other six... Well, you might be seeing some of their memories later on!

**AND THANK YOU ALL FOR ALL THE NICE THINGS YOU SAY! It's totally not worth it... But I love each and every one of you for it 3 So, read and review, favorite, follow... All those good things? Till next time!**


	8. Chapter 7

None of America's memories bothered me that night. As I slept I dreamt of home, of mom outside the door, hair tucked behind her ears, holding the boxes of lunch for me and Matthew. I dreamt of Matthew taking it and hugging her and heading off down the road. I saw myself forget she was even there in my rush to take the meal and run off after my brother.

And then I turned and saw her soft smile change into a worried frown as she looked at me. I found myself going back to her as she held out a hand and touched my face and kissed my forehead.

"I am going to miss you. But you were never mine anyway."

I looked up at her, gasping. And as I awoke to the sounds of a rooster crowing – honestly, I thought I had gotten away from the damn roosters. Arthur was too old-fashioned – I had one thought. She knew.

She knew who I was, _what_ I was and never told me. And now that I thought about it I had always seen it in her eyes. That sort of distant sadness whenever she looked at me. Like she was mourning the normal child she could have had. Not a dead nation.

I shakily got out of bed and stared out the window of my room. Arthur had said we were starting today. I had to focus on that. After all I had promised that I would do the right thing this time. That I would become America.

Moving to the dresser, I decided to try and find the shirt and pants I had come in. But no such luck. The wardrobe had the oddest clothing. Things I had seen in the memories. Vests and boots and button up shirts. I had a brief moment of surprise and elation, going through the things and experiencing the memories that went with each article of clothing. America's memories.

Arthur had kept every piece of clothing that America had ever worn. I had to admit; it was kind of sweet and showed how much he really had cared… Even if it was incredibly creepy. And I knew that he wanted me to wear them. That would make him happy, would make him give me that smile that I had seen, so open and content.

My hand closed on one of the shirts and a flood of memories hit me. England holding mine, no, America's hand as they walked through the woods; England showing America how to shoot a gun for the first time; tears going down America's face as England got in a boat to go back to his home again…

I let go of the shirt quickly, staring at it while letting my hand fall to my side. These were bombs. One touch and it was overwhelming.

Glancing around the room, I was relieved to see that England had also planned for me not wanting to wear those clothes. On the back of a chair was my shirt, jeans, and jacket, cleaned, but the jeans still sporting holes on the knees and frayed edges. I pulled them on and walked out of the room.

It wasn't hard to find the dining room again, and as I had thought, England was there. He was on his cell phone, talking rapid-fire to whoever was on the other end of it. He hardly looked up at me as I sat down at my place at the table, just continued talking. I found it hard to understand what he was saying so fast in his accent, and only caught a few words.

"No … he … idiot … honestly … finish …"

He flipped the phone closed with a snap and pushed it away from him on the table. "Am I speaking a foreign language?" he muttered irritably, rubbing his head.

My automatic reaction was to say yes, but I stayed silent, glancing down at the food already there for me. It looked edible… I supposed. A sort of porridge thing. With fruit in it. Well, drowning in it. I could hardly see the red of the strawberries. Picking up my spoon and taking a bite, I nearly gagged. It had absolutely no flavor. But I forced down the… Glop, I'd call it now.

"Good morning, Alfred," Arthur finally said, eating his own glop with none of the problems I was encountering with it.

I murmured a "G'morning," of my own, almost knocking over my water in my haste to get it. It took a lot to not down the whole cup. The porridge stuck like concrete in my throat, making it incredibly hard to breathe.

It was silent for the remainder of the meal, I finishing in record time, mostly out of desperation to be done with the ordeal. A few minutes later, Arthur set down his own spoon and placed his napkin back on the table. His green eyes studied me for a moment, seemingly… Distant. Not like I'd noticed when he first saw me. And not at all like the memories that had been bouncing through my head.

Sitting back in his chair – he sat straight up, stiff as a board while eating – Arthur gave a small nod, like he had decided something. He sighed softly and closed his eyes for a moment, before looking back at me with that cool emerald stare.

"From here on out we are going to be very busy," he said. "You will be gaining more and more memories of America's, and if I have understood properly from the past, not just his." He rose up a hand to stop me as I opened my mouth to ask something here. "You will understand soon enough, I expect.

"But as I was saying, we are going to be very busy. Even with the memories you will be gaining, there is much to learn. Not just for you either. We will be meeting up with your brother – Matthew, right? – from time to time." At the hopefully expression on my face, he shook his head. "No, he will not be staying with us. But he is not going into the army either."

I wanted to ask questions as to _where_ my twin was going to be, but once again Arthur spoke before I could. "I know that the education over in your old home is lacking. So every day will begin with schooling. You will study in maths, sciences, history, English, and various languages. Even if you are not one yet, personifications of nations are expected to be proficient in a variety of languages. We will be mingling with the other nations quite often, and it is polite to not always expect them to talk to you in your native tongue."

My head spun. Never had I ever done so much schooling. The people in the colonies were not expected to be intelligent, but a working force. We were taught only what the Empire wanted, and they did not want us to be smarter than them.

"You will also take lessons in strategy and battle. If what I was told is to come true, America will have to turn from merely a scattering collection of colonies to a fighting force almost its own. The strength of the nation comes from its representative, and vice versa.

"On top of that, some things will have to be recreated. This will be the most important and the most difficult of all the things that we will be doing."

I waited for Arthur to say more on this, but he didn't. Apparently this wasn't something that he was going to explain. I bet if I asked, I would be told that I would understand in time. All in all, I was already stunned by all that Arthur had already said. When he said that we would be busy, he had meant it.

A wry smile appeared on England's face. It wasn't a real one, really, not like those I had seen. The real ones were rare, something told me. Especially now.

"You look shell-shocked, Alfred. Somewhere in those lifetimes of memories of yours, you know this all already." He gave a small nod, as if making what he said even more true that way. "But we will not be starting any of that today. No, lessons are for later. Today you will be meeting some of the others like me and France."

He stood up, leaving me still quite a bit stunned. "Be ready in half an hour. At that time, and no later, meet me outside. You may want to change. Wear something clean and respectable, but comfortable. No more of these hole-filled jeans." The Briton looked pointedly at my pants before leaving the room.

* * *

**I'm BACK! And man has it been a long time... I was completely eaten up by school, and then this first part of summer vacation we had an exchange student from France stay with us. She left today and I miss her so much already. For three weeks I had a sister!**

**But anyway... My God, it has been five months since I updated this. HERE YOU GO I AM SO SORRY. I promise to do more writing this summer. And try to continue writing through next school year. Because I love it. **

**But anyway... If you are all still reading... I love you 3 Keep doing your amazing things.**


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